Silent Hill: Salvation
by hunter049
Summary: He leaves after tragedy strikes his already broken family. He had nothing left, and felt broken. Can he fix himself as he fights through the titular town, or will he be ground to dust by the town's darkness? Don't own Silent Hill.
1. Prologue

**Silent Hill is owned by Kon****ami. I don't own it.**

**If you know me from anywhere, it's Minecraft fanfics. However, as much as I love MC, I love Silent Hill. My friend Locust (yes, same co-writer as in **_**War of the Withers**_**) showed me both movies and I've done my research on the games. I hope you enjoy this one, review since I'm not sure if I'll do this well.**

Our father was a tyrant. He was indifferent while he was sober. He might have ignored us, but at least he put food on the table to not let us starve. Though, really, that's about as far as he cared to show interest in us. No, the fear began when he was drunk.

He'd drink and start to stumble, and both my sister and I trembled as we knew what would soon follow. He'd start to first mumble to himself.

"Love… kids… car… glass everywhere… they lived… but her… gone." It was usually at that point that he'd gain some dark sort of lucidity. He'd turn to me, or worse, my little sister, and in his eyes we saw hatred.

He'd beat us, hurt us, yell insults at us, and throw us like ragdolls. On more than one occasion he'd finish the bottle, mumble, look at us, and smash the bottle on us. He'd even smash the bottle on the table just to get a slashing weapon, even if there was a knife right next to him.

But what hurt most was that, being our father, he was our only possible protector. Yet we cowered in the corner as he'd rage around the room, slamming the table, bottles, and chairs. He'd smack us or punch us or worse.

Once he'd returned to his old, sober self, he'd survey the damage on us and warn us that if we went to the police or someone else, he'd end us. We'd cry, and then he'd go back to indifference. We were never happier than when he was gone, or barring that, sober.

I hated him as much as he hated us. As I got older I realized why he hated us so. It was in his mumblings, in the calm before the storm. He blamed us for the death of our mother.

I remember our mother being a loving, caring woman, and my father was never happier than when he was with her. One day we rode in the car, a truck blared, and next thing I knew I was in the hospital, next to my sister and father.

The nurse somberly told me my mother didn't make it. She had been driving and took the most impact out of any of us. After that day, the indifference began, and with that, his drinking. I think he drank to try to forget, or to ease his pain. As far as I know, it only let him channel his pain into us.

The pain of a chair or bottle smashing into you felt almost as bad as the look my sister gave me. I finally had enough, and stood up to my father as he began his drunken routine again.

He was lifting his arm to strike my sister, and I grabbed it to stop him. He turned to me, and with his other hand slapped me hard. I fell to the ground and he turned back to my sister. I heard the first sound of impact, her screams of pain and her pleads of mercy. Barely standing on my two feet, I rushed and stood in front of her. His anger flared, he slammed his fist into my face, and everything went black.

I awoke to find my sister on the ground, bruised and bleeding. She was in the fetal position, whimpering and crying. I crawled over to her and held her as she shook with tears. I let a few tears fall myself, trying to stay strong for her.

He walked into the kitchen and I screamed at him, shouting about abuse and how he hurt us. He merely gave me an apathetic look and walked to the living room.

This continued for years, his threat to our lives preventing us from reaching out for a helping hand. My sister and I always wore long sleeved shirts and sweaters, with turtlenecks. It was the only way to cover our bruises and scars.

* * *

One day, I guess my sister broke. She cried for hours in her room, and I couldn't comfort her. The next day, I came home from school to find her dead in front of the living room table, a gunshot wound in her head. Next to her, my father lay in a pool of blood. There were too many bullet holes in him to count, and my eyes filled with tears. Not even one of those was for him. She died far too young, only fifteen years old, and it was all his fault. I was four years older.

I fell to the ground, sobbing and cradling my little sister. Even in death she was still pretty, and I closed her eyes gently. The police soon came, as one of the neighbors had called about screams and gunshots. They comforted me as best they could, and later, when some of my tears dried, they gave me a note. It was from my sister.

_Dear Brother, _

_I had enough. I planned to take him down with me, because I can't take the pain anymore. Please understand. I killed him so he wouldn't hurt you anymore either. I don't know if I'll succeed, but if you're reading this and he's gone, I did. I love you, and I want to thank you for protecting me. _

_Love, Holly_

My eyes flooded with fresh tears as the reality of the situation crashed into me. She was gone, and took him down as some sort of payment back to me for the times I defended her. He was finally gone, but at what cost? She had been the only reason I stayed in that house. I needed to protect her. I had failed her.

I left the police station, note in hand. Snatching the keys from their hanger on the door, I ran out to my car. I stepped inside, letting the leather comfort me. It didn't succeed.

I ignited the engine, got out of the driveway, and just drove. I didn't know where I wanted to go; all I knew was that I wanted to get away. I wanted to get away from everything.

The road began to get more and more deserted. I didn't care, and just sped along the increasingly solitary road. My gas meter began to drop, so I stopped at a roadside diner gas station. I bought a quick bite and some gas. My tank and belly full, I resumed my journey with no destination in mind.

Then weird things began. At first, I thought it was only my tears that were blurring my vision, but after wiping my eyes vigorously, the blurriness remained. I realized it was fog. I disregarded it and kept driving, until I finally had to admit something was wrong. The fog was too thick to see if another car was coming, and even if I was depressed, I didn't want to die.

I parked my car on the side of the road and got out. I looked around and listened. I didn't hear anything, but the fog wasn't as thick as before. Running over to my car, I got in and turn the key. My car wouldn't start, but I kept trying. It just kept sputtering until finally, it seemed the car died.

I sighed, got out, and walked forward. Gradually, the fog let up until I could see a good twenty-five yards around me. I saw an outline in the fog, and ran over.

A wooden sign stuck from the ground, its two posts firmly in the ground.

_Welcome to Silent Hill_.

**I hoped you liked it. Review to see if I made an error, or maybe just say you liked it or hated it. Thanks for reading. **


	2. First Encounters

**I** **don't own Silent Hill. Konami does. NOT ME.**

**I'd like to thank** **AoWoSora for the new title. I think it's better than the original. Plus that reader reviewed, and that made me feel a bit happier. But this is a more somber story, so I need a somber-er mood.**

**Of course, my friend The Zing is reading it over, and he's my critic/editor/co-writer for _War of the Withers_. If Minecraft's your thing, you like my stories, or you just have time, please consider reading it. I just had to give my best friend credit. I probably wouldn't have had the courage to post these stories without his support.  
**

* * *

_Welcome to Silent Hill_.

Something sounded familiar about that name. Then I remembered. I had to do a project about that town. It had once been prosperous, but everyone died. The official story was that there had been a coal mine under the town, and when it caught fire and let out toxic fumes, everyone died. From then on, the town was deserted, save for vagrants and criminals.

I paled. What if the poison was still in the air? I held my breath and ran back to my car. I gasped as behind my car, where the road should be, was nothing. No road or ground, just fog as deep as I could see. It would appear I had no choice. I had to find a different way out, and fast.

Someone was coming towards me, off in the fog. I waved, and the person stumbled towards me. I walked towards him until I saw him more clearly. Specifically, that the person wasn't human. Not anymore.

It seemed to be a person within a skin of thin membrane covering their head and upper body. It looked startlingly like a straightjacket, with its arms around itself under the membrane. It was a straightjacket made of its own skin.

I got even closer, and I saw the skin was smooth and pasty everywhere but the chest, where black acid was dripping. I stumbled back and tripped, landing hard. _I should have stopped as soon as I saw it wasn't human..._ _My curiosity is_ _about to get me killed._

It stopped, and I let out a breath of relief. Then it threw its head back and spat out black acid. I rolled out of the way, the acid burning the ground beside me. A few drops landed on my arm and I hissed. The pain helped me to scramble up as the monster got ready for another spit. I looked at my arm and saw burn marks.

I could only think of one place to run. My car. Opening the door, I huddled inside and hoped that the car would be sufficient protection. Then I remembered something. I always kept a tire iron in the back in case of emergency. _I supposed this could be considered an emergency, _I thought wryly.

Just then the acid splatted against the window, and if the monster had had arms it could have grabbed me. It screeched and thrashed, its skin seemingly pulsating. Underneath, it must have been trying to break free.

It reared back for another spit but I opened the door, making the monster fall back. It landed on its back, and I crouched down to finish it. I swung the tire iron, going for what I think would be the head. I didn't stop swinging until I felt it was never going to get up.

I stood up and looked down at the strange creature. The hole still oozed black acid, and I wondered what else this town could hold.

I didn't have much other choice than to enter the town and maybe find someone who could help me. Though who could survive this type of hell was beyond me. I sighed.

* * *

I looked around. The town so far seemed abandoned and charred in places. I figured if survivors were anywhere, they'd be in the supermarket for food or the hospital for medical supplies. I decided to walk and explore the town, hopefully finding people.

Just then, a siren blared. I looked up and around, and everything started to fade from the white fog into a dark and oppressing smoky fog. I ran to some convenience store. I looked up before rushing inside. The store was a Circle 8. It was old and nearly decaying, but it appeared hospitable. But inside, things didn't seem much better than outside.

The ground was still blackened and it looked almost rotten in some places. I walked around, and heard something slide across the floor near my feet. I looked down and could make out a flashlight. I grabbed it and flicked it on. The light hit something in the corner.

It looked like a girl. I smiled and called out. Her hair was long and dark, and seemed a bit dirty. She had to be lonely.

"Hey there. Glad to finally find someone around here." I walked over, and she seemed to shake. She let out a sob, and as I got closer I wrapped an arm around her. Suddenly her head whipped around towards me, and I nearly screamed.

Her face was twisted and burned in places, scars disfiguring her. One eye was missing, dried blood around her socket. I backpedaled, and she stood, shaking this time in anger instead of sorrow. I readied my tire iron, and she swung her fist at me. She caught me on my chin, and I stumbled back into a counter. She stumbled towards me and raised her fist to strike me again. She was surprisingly strong.

I swung my iron at her legs and she fell back, and I raised my iron. I brought it down hard on her head, and she spasmed once and died.

I let out a _phew_ and sat down. I let my head fall into my hands and sat like that until the siren blared again. The body of what I dubbed the Wallower dissolved into little pieces of flying ash, and the store seemed to revert to a friendlier state.

I grinned as I saw there was still even some snacks on the counters. I grabbed a chocolate bar and munched on my way out the door. It tasted a bit stale, but not as bad as it could have been.

I nearly ran back inside as I saw another monster. Its skin was gray but it didn't stumble like one of those spitting things. It looked right at me and I readied my tire iron. It simply kept walking, not even paying attention to me. I sighed in relief that there was at least one thing that didn't want me dead.

I walked around and noticed I reached the circle of stores. Well, a couple of stores and a mall, but still. The mall was huge. It was Toluca Mall, but I leaned away from it. With what monsters seemed to roam this town, I didn't want to go inside a virtual labyrinth.

Nearby was a hardware store and next to that was a thrift shop. I ran to the hardware store, hoping that there was some better weapon that what I had. My tire iron seemed to be bent a bit, and sooner or later it'd be too worn and banged up to use.

I entered the store, the little bell ringing. I lifted my iron in case anything rushed at me, but nothing did. I sighed in relief. I explored the store, finding nails and hammers and the like. Nothing useful. I walked back to the entrance when I spied a glint of metal behind the counter. I grinned widely.

In the corner near the cash register, there was a pistol. I searched around the counter for ammo and pocketed the money from the register. I finally stumbled upon it in one of the drawers of the counter.

I lucked out. The pistol was an incredible find in the first place, and it even had a holster nearby so I could carry it on my hip and still wield my tire iron. I stuffed the pistol ammo in my pocket, the small gun fully loaded and in its holster just in case.

I was still on the lookout for anyone else who managed to survive in this hell, but I felt much safer with a pistol on my hip. I decided to leave the thrift store for another time, and look for survivors in a place far more likely.

The hospital.

**So there we go. T****here was an Armless Man and a new one of my own creation, a Wallower. ****Will a couple of famous monsters be in the hospital? Maybe. So I hope you liked it, review if you want, read my other stories, and have a nice time. **


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